|03-28-2004, 12:49 PM||#1|
The following snippets of roleplaying from the games of jointhesaga.com should give a taste of what one can expect while playing among us:
Chiaroscuro: The Interactive Fantasy Saga
Telnet: jointhesaga.com 2003
Dank Corridor (Fastheld Keep)
A narrow corridor, about four feet wide and eight feet high, it runs twenty feet from the northwestern bend that leads to the tower to the eastern bend, deeper into the dungeon.
The cobbled stone walls are slick with moisture and twists of root sprawl across the ceiling.
Heavy iron doors leading into the cramped cells of the Fastheld dungeon line the corridor.
Gell Mikin walks down the corridor, ducking his bald head as he passes beneath a clump of roots. The shriveled fingers dance on the chain around his neck, their wiggling a bit more pronounced by the flickering glow of torches jutting from the wall as he passes the cells.
From Dungeon Cell, Dianna Lomasa is curled up in her cell, her arms wrapped tightly around her body, trembling from the Shadows, which dance around the cell. She tries, slowly, to lift her hand to run it through her hair, but wrinkles her nose at the presence of so many knots, and eventually lowers her hand again.
Gell Mikin stops outside Dianna's cell. He peers inside, through the small window. "Lady Lomasa. I trust I haven't come at an inconvenient time." A faint smile touches his lips.
From Dungeon Cell, Dianna Lomasa's head snaps up, eyes widening in fright as the voice of Gell Mikin bounces through the small cell. Her trembling increases, arms tightening around her body as she slowly clears her throat, "You would grace my humble /cell/ with your presence, Surrector," she murmurs, slightly sarcastic, voice scratchy.
The Surrector's smile twitches upward. He nods curtly. "Your behavior during imprisonment has been exemplary. You are to be commended."
From Dungeon Cell, "If you mean my lack of trying to escape, Surrector," Dianna says softly, "Then what use would it be, even if I could? The people of Fastheld hate, and revile me for something that I am not. What is the use of trying to live in such a land?"
"Some hate you for quite a different reason," Gell Mikin replies blandly, lacing his fingers together as he stares into Dianna's cell. "But I have come with tidings you may find uplifting."
From Dungeon Cell, Dianna Lomasa ndos her head slowly, "Yes, I know others hate for different reasons, other than just the false accusation of my being Touched," she says softly. "For my reckless actions, many hate me." She gives a sigh, before lifting her head, "And what uplifting news do you bring, Surrector?"
Gell Mikin tilts his head, the smile snaking farther across his face. "An opportunity for freedom. It is within my authority to grant you amnesty and clear your name, declaring you free of the Shadow's Touch, under certain conditions."
OtherSpace: The Interactive SF Saga
Telnet: jointhesaga.com 1790
Port Cargo Hold (Athena)
The cargo hold is a massive utilitarian affair, a wide cavern framed by the reinforced bulkheads and deck access plates. Tie downs and anchor pins line entire space in a flexible grid, allowing all manner of cargo stored and secured. Hidden behind large access panels and equipment banks are the varied multi-purpose support equipment, to allow for a variety of transport environments. Above run several tracks for gantry cranes and transport equipment. High bay light fixtures march down the hold's length, while individually keyed conduit runs provide the only splash of color in this space. A large square loading platform is marked out on the deck, banded in black and yellow industrial striping and bordered by heavy duty hydraulic struts.
/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "Captain Ranix, the next time you send an assistant, be sure it's someone who isn't liable to fall between the cracks in the crates. Helpful suggestion."
/ ATHENA_COMMS / Marlan says, "I fully expect my crew to remain in one piece while working in the cargo bays Mr. Sharptongue...after all...i don't believe a sheared look would do you justice."
/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "*splutter* I merely mean to suggest that I prefer the cargo handlers to be a bit ... oh, I don't know ... beefier. Capable of, say, handling the cargo? This poor waif is liable to get squashed by his own shadow if we make a sharp turn."
/ ATHENA_COMMS / Marlan says, ""Of course...but i'm sure you can appreciate the value of training the young...keeps them from picking up all sorts of foolishness.""
*KAchack* Goes the marking gun from somewhere very close behind the Demarian quartermaster. "Am UNGSTIRI TOUGH!" The boy, Pavlo, snaps and forcefully applies one of the lables to the Demarian's tail.
/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "Well, if this is the best help you can provide to your quartermaster, then I suppose I have little room to ... GAH!"
Sharptongue swings his snout around, claws flashing, fangs gnashing, belabeled tail lashing out of range, and raowrs loudly in Pavlo's face.
Star Wars: Reach of the Empire
Telnet: jointhesaga.com 1977
Main Square (Mos Eisley: Tatooine)
This busy square is the center of much activity in Mos Eisley. The street, like elsewhere in the city, is made of sand, only slightly more compressed than out in the open desert, and it is travelled by a variety of vehicles, from rundown speeders to ancient-looking carts towed by domesticated dewbacks or banthas. A wide variety of humans and aliens travel through the square, many of them with their faces obscured by hoods or heavy wrappings to protect them from the blazing twin suns. Rows of white concrete buildings line the street, displaying the curved, dome-like architecture that is prevalent over much of the planet, and as elsewhere on Tatooine it seems that many of the buildings extend mostly underground to avoid the desert heat. There are piles of junk leaning up against many of the smaller buildings, suggesting that the citizens of Mos Eisley do not invest much time or effort in keeping their city clean.
Directly ahead as you enter the square can be seen Mos Eisley's main reason for existing - the massive spaceport with its many landing bays. Much of the traffic in the street seems drawn toward the spaceport and the small, run-down Cantina next to it, but there is a small business district to the North where travelers can find supplies and various hard-to-obtain items. Occasionally, local moisture farmers can be seen hauling their water in containers sitting on antigrav sleds or in carts towed by dewbacks, hoping to make a sale. To the South extends the residential district, where those poor fools who live here seek shelter from sun and sand.
Every so often, the ground rumbles as the shadow of a ship passes overhead, arriving or departing the busy spaceport.
Boba Fett swiftly reaches around the back of his armor to retrieve what can be considered his primary weapon, the small E-11 blaster rifle used by the countless legions of Stormtroopers. He raises it towards Azool just before he notices Zrask readying the grenade launcher again, and he dives forward and out of the way of the grenade, assisted in his jump with a short burst from his jetpack. As he lands, he points the rifle at the reloading Rodian and squeezes off a pair of shots in rapid succession, again allowing his targeting system to fall on the target first.
Azool sidesteps Fett's first shot, but the second catches him in the side of the ribs, leaving a painful burn. He glances at the Bothan, before turning his attention back to Fett. "Your weapon iz ineffective!" he calls to the Bothan as he flexes his wrist, sending a second rocket thundering toward the infamous bounty hunter.
Perhaps its the dirt kicked up from the grenades, or perhaps it is stubborness, but the most likey furless and clothless Shistavanen wakes up, and starts crawling away from the hunter that cooked him. Snails could outrun him though, but he is moving.
Bindah Morposs shakes his head as he adopts a somewhat relaxed pose. A shoulder rests almost casually against the stand. "Nerfs to the slaughter," he murmurs in a low, icy growl.
Zrask, watching as Fett dodges his grenade and nodding at Azool, straps his rifle onto his back. His right hand then reaches into his pouch to pull out a small, cylindrical device.
Boba Fett rolls out of the way of Azool's next rocket, and the hunter stands to his feet again, again assessing the situation before taking aim. This time, he swings his rifle and targeting system towards the Bothan whom has just produced a grenade, and taking careful aim, he fires a pair of shots.
As his second rocket thunders past the bounty hunter, Azool does as he advised the Bothan and pulls a plasma grendage from his jacket, readying to sidearm it at the bounty hunter as Fett fires at the Bothan.
Haggard breathing accompainies the movements of the well cooked Shistavanen that is still attempting to crawl away from Boba Fett. Still not moving very fast, but not screaming in pain either, perhaps he can't.
The grenades catch Bindah's eye, and he cocks his head curiously, a stubby thoranium finger brushing against an identical version hooked to his bandolier.
Unable to dodge the shots from Fett, Zrask is hit by both and falls to the ground.
Boba Fett sweeps his gaze back towards the Rodian, as well as his rifle. As he spots an identical grenade emerging from the the Rodian's jacket, the hunter takes quick aim and fires a pair of shots at the Rodian using his targeting system again.
Azool's eyes widen as the bounty hunter's blaster bolts connect with his torso. He gurgles through his snout in disbelief as he slumps to the sandy ground.
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